Take Off
by The Countess D
Summary: Franziska never was one for sleeping on planes. ONESHOT.


**Author's Note:** This is the result of me asking for a challenge from a friend at ten at night. Of course, she ended up choosing one of the pairings I'm not too keen about. Not that I have anything against it, but Franziska seems to have a lot more figuring out to do before she could actually show an interest in anyone. So instead of going with an outright Phoenix/Franziska one-shot, I decided to write about Franziska playing with the idea of the Defense attorney at the end of the second game instead.

So basically, it's this huge set of inner monologue and it's incredibly ranty. I doubt there's that much detail I could get wrong in this, but who knows. Do tell if there is. And to wrap things up, this is my first contribution to this fandom and my first one-shot in general, so please do be gentle. I'm practically a Phoenix Wright fanfiction virgin!

**Disclaimer:** If the owner of any video game, movie, book, or television show spent their time writing fanfiction, they have serious issues.

I'm sixteen years old. I own nothing.

* * *

The atmosphere of the plane was calm, the passengers inside it either basking in the glow of the sunset outside of their window in content or closing their eyes for some much needed rest. Franziska von Karma, ever the nonconformist, was doing neither. Instead, her eyes were resting absently on the space beneath the seat in front of her, thinking about the recent events.

Her eyes ached, her shoulder ached, and what frustrated her most was that her chest ached. From what? Disappointment? Fear? Confusion? Confusion was definitely the thing to call it; ever the adjective to describe what you had no other words for. Of course, that was a contradiction in itself, but Franziska was off the clock. She needn't worry about such petty things outside of a courtroom, let alone her inner monologue.

Her eyes rested on a bit of leather glistening nearby her feet, and she leaned down to pick her whip up from where she had hastily thrown it. Foolish stewardesses and their foolish policies. That girl was lucky she hadn't whipped her on the spot. Just resting her hand against it made her spirits lift, just the slightest, but it was an improvement nonetheless. The whip gave her a sense of power, confidence. Where children had safety blankets, she had the cracks of her whip, and as strange as that might sound, no one seemed to argue with her after she gave them a little demonstration.

But she wouldn't be feeling this gentle sense of assurance if it hadn't been for _him_.

Hadn't it been enough for the world to bless her with a know-it-all-not-little-brother? Miles Edgeworth, ever the perfectionist. The true prodigy in the von Karma family, and he wasn't even a von Karma. She had envied him of course. Loathed him and that nonchalance, yet gotten addicted at that first taste of competition. But he had never faltered in all his glory, becoming the renowned Demon Prosecutor not only in Europe, but in America as well. Franziska had thought he would never be beaten.

Then there was Phoenix Wright. Franziska had scoffed at the name at first, not sure whether to pity or laugh at the poor hapless bastard. But when that name had been followed by "beat Miles Edgeworth" she nearly fainted. She had whipped the messenger silly instead, but still, she couldn't believe that this rookie had the gall to appear out of nowhere and take what should have been rightfully hers. Miles Edgeworth's first defeat. And not only the first, but the second, and the third. She wondered how this Phoenix Wright must have felt. To have the Demon Prosecutor fall at his hand so many times only to have him crawl back to him and beg him to defend him in court. And so in a matter of months, Phoenix Wright had accomplished what Franziska had never thought possible. He had stripped Miles Edgeworth and Manfred von Karma of their perfect records, everything that mattered to the von Karma name.

She flew down to America as soon as she got word of Miles Edgeworth's disappearance to have a look at this Phoenix Wright character herself. She had imagined a ruthless Defense attorney, calculated down to the tiniest detail. It had been the shock of her life when she saw the moron that stood in front of her. Unprepared, sloppy, and throwing possibilities left and right. She had thought it would have been an easy win. But dear God, how she wanted to wrap her whip around his throat when she found out, hey, guess what, Franziska – this shit works!

Foolishly coated fool filled with foolish filling. Then to turn around at the end of it all, act as if he was _concerned_ about her, and give her the one thing that had ever made her feel as if she had any place being a lawyer. And again, she wanted to wrap this whip around her throat, because what pissed her off most of all was that she knew that that foolishly coated fool was foolish enough not to be acting.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

He was actually concerned about her. Her! His enemy through case after case, and yet he did this for her. And even when he had lost, even going so far as to _plead_ Guilty in court, he smiled. Celebrated. As if somehow, he had still won.

And Franziska was feeling the most foolish of all, because somewhere along the line, he had stunned her. Fascinated her. Confused her like hell, but goddamn it if that wasn't captivation on some level. This man who had beat the two men in her life she never had any hope of reaching was not ruthless. Not calculated. In fact, it barely seemed as if he got by.

And yet, in everything he was sincere. Case after case, it was as if he was putting his heart and soul on the line. On his client. Franziska had seen many an attorney try to do the same, only to be broken and wary after one little loss. She laughed in their faces, but couldn't quite laugh in his. He hadn't been affected when she tried. Only looked at her with eyes that suddenly seemed wiser than the last time she faced him in court. He had joined Edgeworth and her father in surpassing her, walking ahead as she sat there to breathe in the dust. Yet, still there was that earnest trace of a smile, an honest wanting for her to understand.

Franziska gently set her whip back on the ground, and this time reached into her pocket for what should have been an insignificant card. But like the whip on the ground and those honest, honest eyes, it weighed more on her mind than anything else.

She stared at the scribbles, the likeness of that poor, hapless bastard and for the first time since she left the airport, the corners of her mouth quirked into a smile. He had wanted her to understand. And she didn't want to disappoint.

The sunlight outside finally fading away, she pocketed the card once more and closed her eyes, a small smile still resting on her lips.

_Phoenix Wright… One day… Someday…_


End file.
